


Suns Rise, Suns Set

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Empire, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Power Dynamics, Religious Conflict, Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You only go to do it because your mom forces you. Okay, you’re royal blood, sure, an’ your rightful place is on the throne. But you ain’t even hit final pupation, an’ Her Obliteration’s been rulin’ for hundreds a sweeps, an’ holy shit, she’s gonna kill you. You beg mom to let you wait just one sweep more, even just a night or two, but the whisperin’ in your pan grows until you feel it buzzin’ deep an’ terrifyin’ in your thorax, an’ your mom’s sendin’ you out there to DIE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suns Rise, Suns Set

You only go to do it because your mom forces you. Okay, you’re royal blood, sure, an’ your rightful place is on the throne. But you ain’t even hit final pupation, an’ Her Obliteration’s been rulin’ for _hundreds_ a sweeps, an’ holy shit, she’s gonna kill you. You beg mom to let you wait just one sweep more, even just a night or two, but the whisperin’ in your pan grows until you feel it buzzin’ deep an’ terrifyin’ in your thorax, an’ your mom’s sendin’ you out there to _die_.

Your trident feels too large for your hands (because it is, _fuck_ , it’s made for an _adult_ an’ you’ve only just hit eight sweeps). You make landfall at the palace, half expectin’ to get culled on sight, but turns out that the nobles, servants, everyone, they either pretend not to see you or vaguely wave you forward down the halls. You guess maybe you’re just gettin' fed into a trap, but hell, you’re half resigned to dyin’ anyways. You just trail along up an’ down hallways you can’t tell apart, an’ even if your mom would let you run, you doubt you’d ever be able to find your way outta this place. Your pump biscuit is poundin’ an’ your hands are shakin’ an’ there’s nothin’ for you to do but walk on.

After so long wanderin’ around looking for her, it’s still a shock to come face to face with Her Obliteration. She’s fuckin’ _huge_ , twice your coddamn size, an’ you only hafta look at her to know she’s as old as the ocean, an’ you’re frozen with terror. She’s talkin’ to some guy in purple and paints, but your pan’s jitterin’ too hard to even focus on his face. It takes her a minute to notice you’re there, an’ you can’t even get offended, because why the fuck would someone like _her_ see someone like _you_ as a danger? Your horns are down in threat display as she looks at you, stands, an’ walks forward, but all she does is laugh an’ draw her own trident.

Her horns are thick as your fuckin’ _legs_ , an the first time they hit yours, you hafta wonder if your neck just broke. Blockin’ a single swing a her trident makes your arms go numb, an’ your knees nearly give way. You’re already so sure you’re gonna die that you just throw yourself into it with everythin’ you’ve got, because _fuck_ , it’s the end a your life, why not make her pay for takin’ you out. It’s a complete surprise when your trident slips past her guard and into her stomach. There’s a frozen moment between the two a you where neither a you knows just what the fuck happened. She clutches at your trident, curlin’ forward, her weapon droppin’ to the floor. You watch, hypnotized, while she grows weaker an’ the pool a blood spreads. When she finally falls over, she near takes you with her.

You stand there frozen for a minute, gaspin’ for air with you pump biscuit poundin’ so hard you think it might beat its way outta your thorax. What finally snaps you outta it is when you spot movement from the corner a your eye. You brace your foot on the body, yankin’ your trident free, an’ face the new threat. It’s the clown from before, but now you’re alive, you’re _alive_ , an’ now that your pan’s able to function again, you can recognize, that regalia, and uh. Oh. This is the coddamn head a the _church_.

…dude barely looks older than you.

You’re still a serious fuckin’ mess, all wrapped up in the kill, hurtin’ so _bad_ you can barely stay upright, and knowin’ that your mom sent you out to _die_. When he takes a step toward you, you hiss an’ raise your trident. You can barely keep the thing straight. You’re exhausted, you’re comin’ apart at the seams, an’ you think you probably have a broken wrist. He brushes the trident aside, an’ you’re just about ready to go for him with claws an’ teeth when he puts a hand to your face an’ says, _shoosh_.

You become distantly aware that you’re cryin’, that your hand are shakin’. You still can’t catch your breath, but his thumb is brushin’ over your cheekbone, an’ if he moves his hand away you’re gonna stab him in the fuckin’ throat. He stands there with you in silence for some time, an’ you spot trolls flittin’ by on the edges a the room, an’ you can hear the background murmur a voices. But you can’t handle that right now, you _can’t_. The cultist dude stays right with you, not really sayin’ anyfin. But after a while, he steps back, just far enough to grab the old Empress’s arm. He lets you focus just on him as he decks you out in her gold and jewels. He turns your hands over in his, finding fingers on you large enough that her rings won’t fall off. You watch, breathless. He slides her bracelets up your arms, gathers your hair to fasten her necklaces underneath. Even when he reaches up to slide two gold circlets down your horns, you shut your eyes, shiver, and let him.

When he finally leads you off into your new home, he tells you that his name is Kurloz.

 

 

Revolution comes, an’ you don’t give a fuck. You’ve been in power since before most trolls on this planet _hatched._ You an’ Kurloz, you’re an unstoppable team. Each a you are all set with the support an’ advice the other one needs to deal with this kinda shit. This preacher or whatev, he’s all talkin’ about religion an’ hemocaste an’ the rest a that bullshit, which is your moirail’s problem, not yours. That leaves him to go out an’ do the work, an’ you just get to sit back an’ take care a him when he comes home. To be honest, you don’t have a single coddamn clue what the revolution is even _about_ , you’re just waitin’ for it to die.

It takes way too long for it to fuckin’ end, that’s the first problem. Your boy, he’s imaginative with the cruelty, an’ usually he’s more like to let somefin drag on longer than it should so he can have his fun. You’ve never seen him strugglin’ to cut it off like he is now. Drives him fuckin’ crazy, an’ you’re the one that gets to put up with it whenever he comes home. An’ fuck if you know what’s up with the clown cultists' religion, but the hemocaste is _sacred_ to them, an’ you guess the preacher’s some kinda off-spectrum mutant. You’ve never really had to do much pappin’ in this relationship, but you’re sure calmin’ Kurloz down a lot these nights.

Once you’re finally sick a waitin’ for this thing to finish, you get up off your ass an’ give Kurloz a hand. At that point you can’t avoid learnin’ what the revolutionaries are preachin’, an’ it’s borin’ as shit, but you realize. This ain’t just about hatin’ the hemospectrum. It’s about _endin_ ’ the hemospectrum. You’re the villain in this whole thing, which first, cracks you up, because if these guys think they’d be able to take you down, they’re more deluded than you thought. But second, you’re _furious_. You were fine lettin’ Kurloz wreck the whole thing, cull the whole batch of ’em. But now? Now you’re gonna make ’em _hurt_.

You start addin’ your spies and armies to the church soldiers. The more you learn about the scope a this rebellion, the more you throw into stoppin’ it. Here’s the thing. The preacher at the heart a this, the mutant freak, he’s somewhere on Alternia, but the revolution’s spread all the way out through your whole empire. You catch a sympathizin’ blueblood in your own coddamn _palace_ , a courtier who’s been alive at least a hundred sweeps and still thinks it’s a fuckin’ good idea to throw in her lot with a pile a shitblood heretics. Kurloz rips her horns off in front a the entire court. An’ she’s not the only one. There are so many, _so many_. In your palace, in your cities, in positions of trust, trolls you’ve known for sweeps an’ sweeps. Your ships are captured and turned against you, your armies taken from you. Entire planets defect.

You’re afraid.

Kurloz doesn’t let you falter, you don’t let Kurloz falter, an’ that’s the only way the two a you make it through. You both surrender countless star systems, pour all your forces onto the homeworld, shut down _all_ flights off the planet, an’ then your put all your effort into capturin’ the shitblood preacher who sparked the revolution. You find him, a course. You weren’t worried. You weren’t. No matter how many supporters he has, there’s only so many places to hide an off-spectrum freak like him. The first time you see his blood, it’s unreal, standing out bright red against your claws. It’s so, so tempting to take him to pieces then and there, but Kurloz calms you down. You see the way his hands twitch when he talks about killin’ the guy, the expression on his face when he looks at the preacher, an’ you tug his hair until he bends down far enough for you to put your arms around his neck an’ kiss his cheek. The two a you can wait just one night longer.

Kurloz _personally_ stands guard that day, an’ it’s a coddamn good thing he does. In just that one day, he kills three separate rescue parties an’ half the soldiers as were standin’ guard with him. The number a traitors in your palace scares you down to your bones, an’ he takes the time to pull you up against his thorax an’ pet your hair while he calls for his own church soldiers to be sent down. You get yourself together, pap his ass back, an’ get ready to hold an execution.

The two a you attend the execution in person, ’cause this shit is _important_. There’s an entire fuckin’ empire watchin’ right now, an’ they’re gonna see that this preacher they’ve been worshippin’ this whole time is nothin’ but one weak, mortal troll. Once he’s strung up in the hot irons an’ screamin’, then you relax a little. His sermons ain’t much when he can hardly talk for the pain. Kurloz’s pet blueblood shoots an arrow in his side an’ you see the blood bubble outta his mouth, an’ you feel much better. Even the little olive jumping in can’t kill your mood after that. You an’ Kurloz hold hands through the whole thing an’ spend that day nestled together in a pile in his respiteblock.

Cleaning up after the rebellion is a fuckin’ _mess_. Nobody but Kurloz is ever gonna know how scared you were, but you’re gonna take every possible measure to destroy any chance that this could ever happen again. Any planet that doesn’t immediately come crawling back to you gets peppered with nuclear weapons from orbit. Kurloz’s soldiers interrogate every captured revolutionary they get their claws on, an’ you’re only sorry so many of ’em die before they can be taken in. In the end, the empire is _yours_ and yours alone, an’ there ain’t a troll alive who doubts it.

 

 

The next time revolution hits, you take it real fuckin’ serious from the _start_. It’s another shitblood (a course it is), but this guy’s one a your old soldiers, an’ it’s different because this guy actually knows how to lead an’ fight. This rebellion’s all politics, no religion in it, but as soon as you get an idea of the scale of this thing, you pull Kurloz an’ the church in anyways. You guess this soldier started pullin’ people together ages ago, an’ nobody musta ever noticed because he’s only brown, and who gives a fuck what those guys are up to anyways.

The last time you put down a rebellion, it took you a little while to get movin’. You’ve learned better. Within a week after you get those first reports, you have church soldiers pullin’ in lowbloods by the hundreds for interrogation. You end up with some shit information from trolls that didn’t know anyfin after all, but you catch enough actual traitors to make it all worthwhile. You an’ Kurloz tell the interrogators to double their intake.

You ain’t got as much experience with makin’ war as your generals do, but when you demand to be involved, ain’t a troll out there that’s gonna tell you no. You start from scratch, but you’re a fast learner, an’ even if it means a lotta sleepless days an’ hectic nights, you’re sure as fuck not gonna lose this war. Kurloz keeps some distance, which is good or you’d be fuckin’ _pissed_ , but when the two a you are alone he tells you that you’ve got a motherfucking beautiful mind for cruelty. You end up blushin’ like a wriggler ’cause that’s one a the sweetest things he’s ever said to you, but also, hell _yeah_ you do.

See, here’s the thing. Right now there’s two major areas where you’re losin’ ground an’ can’t afford to: the midbloods an’ the military. Shitbloods, like, who even gives a fuck what they’re whinin’ about, but the more they complain about the top a the spectrum without gettin' their asses culled, the more the middle a the spectrum thinks the revolutionaries might have a point. The lower down the spectrum you go, trolls get to breedin’ so fuckin’ fast, but that never was an issue as long as they knew their _place_. It’s a bit late to go to the mother grubs an’ cull all the lowblood grubs you can find(you do it anyways, just to be safe), but the more greens an’ blues start thinkin’ about treason, the harder it’s gonna become to win this war.

The military, that’s an issue that’s just as hard to fix. The fucker leadin’ the rebellion, right? He’s one a your own coddamn cavalreapers, suddenly gettin' all this shit in his pan, the idea that someone right down at the bottom a the spectrum could possibly know better than you, at the absolute fuckin’ _top_. But your soldiers see him as ‘one a their own’ or whatev, and they’re defectin’ left an’ right. The cavalreapers, they all ditched right before you caught wind a what was happenin’. Archeradicators are more blue than anyfin, so they’re mostly still with you. But half a your threshecutioners are already gone. The longer this war drags the more desertions are bleedin’ your army dry, an’ you need to stop this _now_ before it goes any further.

Hearin’ about the one cerulean who’s in tight with the shitblood revolution leader keeps naggin’ at you until you finally realize what you can do with it. She’s got some past with the empire an’ the law, but nothin’ so serious anyone’s cared much to track her down an’ have her culled. Why don’t you change that? Kurloz is the one who gives you the idea a usin’ them to tear apart the revolution. You could just cull her plain, but there’s no use in doing it that way. She’s just a part of a larger whole, an’ she’s gonna finally do her job an’ serve the empire that _made_ her. You’re gonna work from the inside an’ shred this rebellion into fuckin’ _pieces_.

Here’s the funny thing. She’s a criminal and the guy she’s shacked up with is so fuckin’ idealistic it makes you wanna actually throw up. Dude won’t even execute your captured soldiers if he can help it, which is so fuckin’ weird it comes right around to _hilarious_. How the hell did they even get together? An’ of course, given how fucked their relationship is, it’s gonna be so coddamn easy to wreck them. Their matespritship or whatev has to have so many cracks in it that you’re surprised it hasn’t fallen apart yet, an’ you are _more_ than ready to give it one last push.

It ain’t so much a single abrupt push, more a slow trickle of information, pressure building until things just _explode_. You’ve got a couple a shitblood spies in their headquarters, an’ you put everyfin into feedin’ misinformation into their camp. You’d bet your ass the cerulean never trusted the shitblood at all, an’ if he ever trusted her it’s only because he’s a pain-dead coddamn _moron_. You figure you’ll just keep goin’ until one a them snaps, an’ you an’ Kurloz bet each other on who’s gonna lose it first, but hell, you’re sure it’s gonna be the criminal who goes for the kill first. It sure surprises the shit outta you when reports start comin’ in that _he’s_ killed _her_. Funniest thing you’ve heard all sweep, an’ you don’t even mind losin’ the bet, because it’s an hour before you an’ Kurloz stop laughin’ hard enough that you can do somefin about it.

Puttin’ the revolution down after that is a joke. If he wouldn’t cull enemy soldiers, hahaha, what the fuck does that say about him that he’d kill his own _matesprit_?? It’s so fuckin’ hilarious you can hardly breathe for laughin’. He practically surrenders to you, even if the other revolutionaries try to struggle on with a leader who can’t even fuckin’ function anymore. The whole thing’s over in a few weeks, though you know Kurloz holds on to some a the survivors for a _long_ while after that. For hundreds a sweeps, every time you read the hemocaste census summaries, it makes you grin ear to ear at just how few shitbloods there are an’ how long it’s takin’ them to get anywhere close to their original numbers.

 

 

It’s lonely bein’ the last troll alive. Even when you were a wriggler just tryin’ to keep your mom fed, you could feel the entire reach a the empire, an’ just how many people were in it. Now, in the whole galaxy, there ain’t anyone left but you. It’s like an extra sense, an’ just as much a part a you as knowin’ where your horns or your feet are, you _know_ there’s nobody left in the rest a the universe. Except. No matter what you know an’ what you can feel, there’s another troll standin’ right in front a you. She’s right there, but you’re sure she’s not, but she is, an’ there’s somefin about her that’s subtly wrong an’ makes your teeth buzz with how much she shouldn’t exist.

Your pan’s too rattled to sort it out, though, because right now all you can think about is how fuckin’ bad you want her _dead_. You know what self-control is, okay? Just because you don’t use it that often doesn’t mean you don’t know what the hell it is. You shouldn’t cull her before you figure out just what the fuck is goin’ on, but _shit_ , you wanna tear into her, get your claws in her guts an’ see what comes out—No. That has to wait (but you’re gonna do it, you’re seriously gonna fuckin’ do it), an’ you need to get your ass in gear an’ get control a the situation.

Even if you ain’t been rulin’ nothin’ but an empty ship for sweeps an’ sweeps an’ sweeps, you’re still the coddamn empress. If you can’t put one lousy rustblood in her place, then wow, you’d better just cull yourself right now. She should be just about pissin’ herself with fear by now, but she’s just loungin’ against a rock, an’ she looks at you’re about as harmless as a barely-hatched wriggler. Even when she notices you watchin’, she rolls her eyes and yawns, fuckin’ _yawns, fuck her up the waste chute with a rusty trident_ —

Relax. Relax. You’re gonna cull her so slow an’ it’s gonna be the most satisfying coddamn thing you’ve ever done, you just need to figure out what the fuck her deal is first. Relax. She fuckin’ _ignores_ you the whole time you try to ask her questions, though. She even _laughs_ at you once or twice, an’ fuck that shit, your fingers are leavin’ dents in your trident handle an’ your free hand is twitchin’ ’cause you want to sink your claws into her _so bad_ , an’ she still ignores every single thing you say.

It ain’t until right as you lose a grip on your last remainin’ solitary shred a patience an’ shiftin’ to lunge at her that she straightens, crosses her arms across her chest, an’ takes a step towards you. You’ve got your horns lowered an’ ready to fight before you even realize, which is fuckin' _embarrassin_ ’, but no, seriously, screw that because you bet you could get her right in the face, break that ugly-ass nose, an’ it’s gonna feel _so coddamn good_.

She’s talkin’ to you though, an’ you have to pull yourself away from imaginin’ all the awful things you could do to her an’ how she’d never be able to stop you, and hnnn, it’s going to feel so _perfect_ —Right. She’s talkin’. She’s tellin’ you (not askin’, what the _fuck_ ) how you’re gonna be enterin’ some lord somefin’s service or whatev, that you’re gonna be his second in command an’ obey his orders an’ okay, haha, seriously, what the _fuck_.

You hold up a hand, an’ she keeps _fuckin_ ’ _talkin_ ’. She ain’t even payin’ you proper attention, she’s checkin’ out her claws or some shit, not even botherin’ to look at you while she tells you you’re about to become some asshole’s _servant_. No. Fuckin’ _hell_ no. You snarl an’ step forward, an’ that’s too much dignity to afford a fuckin’ _rustblood_ , but you’re so coddamn pissed you can’t even care right now.

She keeps talkin’ until she’s done with whatever this shit is she wants you to believe, looks up, an’ acts like she’s _just_ noticin’ you. She draws two white needles, lazy as hell actin’ like you ain’t a threat at all, an’ that’s it. That’s the limit a your patience. You mean to take your time, but after she burns the shit outta your arm, you just give in an’ just _tear_ into her. She just laughs an’ laughs. Once you’ve got your claws an’ teeth an’ trident all in play it feels so perfect, so fuckin’ perfect, an’ you don’t stop until she’s limp an’ unrecognizable on the ground. You’ve never cared much for rust, but you think the color’s startin’ to grow on you.

You’re walkin’ away, goin’ nowhere in particular, just thinkin’ on how that musta been the most satisfyin’ troll you’ve ever culled. Outta nowhere, the air, _everythin_ ’ splits ahead a you, the universe is tearin’ apart an’ there’s a too-large shape steppin’ through, steppin’ up toward _you_. A voice is echoin’ in your head, shakes you down to the fuckin’ bones, an’ you do your best to bare your teeth an’ raise your weapon. The figure steps forward again. His voice shakes you apart, rattles you to pieces, an you’re small, so _fuckin’ small an’ insignificant_ , an’ if you could make yourself move right now, you’d laugh that you ever thought you were important because you were an _empress_. You take a step back, throat bared, an’ your trident falls from shakin’ hands.

You kneel.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was the Main Round Two entry for Team Ancestors in the 2014 Homestuck Shipping World Cup. Credit for the first picture goes to the fantastic [missl0uis](http://missl0uis.tumblr.com/), and the other three, plus the text, are by me.
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/94308669681/suns-rise-suns-set-spockandawe-homestuck-archive)


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